


All Those Precious Days

by sweetfayetanner



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: A little bit of angst, Chapeau and LeFou are actually best friends, Chapeau backstory, Chapeau gets a first name, Chapeau headcanons, Family, Gen, Post Curse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 23:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11046462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetfayetanner/pseuds/sweetfayetanner
Summary: It feels as though it’s been a lifetime already. He wants to answer, but the words flounder on his tongue; there aren’t enough or almost too many of them to describe precisely what he’s been through. He can barely understand it himself. How can he possibly explain?Chapeau adjusts to life after the spell has been broken.





	All Those Precious Days

The day after the curse breaks and the entire castle settles into life as human beings again, _le prince_ gives everyone time to themselves. Time to be free, to roam about, to do nothing at all or perhaps everything they’ve been missing for years upon years. They are given much more time than any of them knows what to do with, at first. There is a lot to learn again. What, exactly, did their lives look like outside of their service to the castle?

Chapeau does not recall being given many personal days prior to the curse. _Le prince_ and his father before him were not gracious enough to acknowledge much beyond themselves, and Chapeau always found himself close by, thinking of his duties first, never himself.

So, the morning after his first sound sleep in a real bed, he takes tea with Cuisinier among the roses of the colonnade and listens to his friend talk in earnest about the grand meals he’ll cook with human hands. The rest of the staff flitters by—Mrs. Potts and Chip are off to spend the week in Villeneuve; a glum-looking Cogsworth trails behind, trying to grasp at any excuse to stay behind in the castle. Frou-Frou circles around Chapeau’s feet, pawing at his breeches while his teacup shakes precariously in his grip. Madame de Garderobe and Maestro Cadenza are off to the Italian countryside and thankfully taking their energetic pup along with them.

Plumette seems to float on the breeze when she and Lumiére show up a half hour behind the rest. By then, Chapeau has finished his tea and is staring at days upon days of free time; a blank canvas that he doesn’t know how to fill. Plumette smiles and drops a kiss on his cheek, bright as the approaching afternoon, a streak of gold highlighting her face. Lumiére is never far behind her, one hand on the small of her back or reaching for her fingers.

“And where are you off to on this fine day, _mon ami_?” Lumiére asks, while Plumette inquires about this evening’s dessert menu. 

Chapeau thinks for a moment, then shrugs. Lumiére laughs. “A man of many words, as always,” he says. “You are welcome to join me and Plumette for the afternoon, if it’s company you wish for.”

Chapeau holds up a hand, thankful for the offer. But he can’t possibly intrude on them, on the time alone they deserve.

“All right,” Lumiére concedes. “We will see you tonight, gentlemen.”

Plumette blows a kiss to them both before dancing away. “ _Au revoir_!”

Chapeau watches their retreating backs, watches how Plumette leans into Lumiére, their fingers already entwined. A feeling of hope blossoms in his chest. For perhaps the first time in many hours since he’s become human again, Chapeau realizes they have a future ahead of them.

 _All_ of them.

They are no longer objects left to collect dust—they are flesh and blood and heartbeats and tears. He startles a little when Cuisinier claps him on the shoulder, pulling him from his reverie. With a broad, hearty grin, he takes Chapeau’s emptied teacup and announces he’ll be in the kitchen for the day, getting a head start on this evening’s extensive meal. Chapeau bids him farewell, and sighs, alone among the roses. He should be thankful for the peace, the quiet, the freedom from responsibility, but his hands and feet are restless.

But what to do, with all of this time?

 ***

An hour and a half later, Chapeau reaches the edge of Villeneuve, violin case in hand. It’s been far too long since he’s visited the quaint village; even before the curse befell their household, his rare personal days were spent in the solitude of his own quarters. He remembers sending letters to his sisters and his mother, but _mon dieu_ , could it be that he hasn’t set foot here since he was barely a man of twenty?

It’s more crowded than he remembers. There is color and laughter and people _everywhere_. He feels misplaced in his dark suit, among the vivid hues preferred by the villagers. But some part of him, however distant, knows this is home. It’s so unlike the daily routine of maintaining a castle; that in itself is a different kind of chaos. The village bears its own rhythm, a tempo that Chapeau finds himself swept up in. Children brush past him, their shouts and laughter rising high above the crowd. Men tip their hats in his direction. He’s left flustered when a young woman levels a rather flirtatious stare and offers perhaps one of the most beautiful smiles he’s ever had the pleasure to receive.

As soon as he wades out of the ebb and flow of the villagers, Chapeau makes his way to the florist. Daffodils, irises, sunflowers, lilies, peonies, roses—he’s had quite enough of those, _merci_. The fragrance dozens of flowers surrounds him as if he’s still in the countryside, and he has to hold in a sneeze while he tries to remember if his mother favors sunflowers over daisies.

In the end, he leaves with an armful of almost everything arranged into four neat bouquets. It’s a struggle to balance them and the violin case still in his grip, but he manages, arriving at the doorstep of his mother’s hat shop. It’s an airy, pink-and-white confection, all billowing curtains and narrow windows and lacey bonnets sitting on every available display. Since their father’s death in the war, it’s taken on a much more feminine touch.

“Maman, Emile is here!”

One of his sisters—Eloise—squeals from her perch at the window, and suddenly he’s inundated with dark brunette curls and rustling petticoats and ear-splitting excitement. His sisters are exactly as loud as he remembers. _Mon dieu_ , he can’t decide if he’s missed this or not. His wig is askew after the whirlwind of kisses and hugs. Elise, Eloise, and Eliana cradle their bouquets, beaming at him and talking over one another. He can’t get a word in (he never could; after the triplets were born, he resigned to not putting forth the effort to speak over them) but he smiles at them, nodding, pretending to understand their cluttered replies.

Finally, his mother emerges from the shop, pushing through the cloud of breathless exhilaration that her daughters have stirred up to reach him. She takes his face in her hands, same as she did when they found each other at the castle, and kisses both of his cheeks. It’s like he’s a boy again, before he gained three noisy sisters.

“Oh, Emile,” she gushes, “ _mon chéri_! Look at you!”

She shoves him out of her grasp so she can look at him. Chapeau shifts uncomfortably, then offers the remaining bouquet of flowers once he can no longer tolerate the attention. His mother tugs him into another bone-crushing hug before wandering into the shop to find a vase. She leaves Chapeau at the mercy of his sisters, who overwhelm him with all of the questions they’ve been wanting to ask since the curse broke.

It feels as though it’s been a lifetime already. He wants to answer, but the words flounder on his tongue; there aren’t enough or almost too many of them to describe precisely what he’s been through. He can barely understand it himself. How can he possibly explain?

His mother is tugging at his sleeve before he’s able to find the right words, and perhaps it’s for the best. He’s ushered inside, where the five of them eat together—their first family meal in ages—and catch up. Chapeau lets them do most of the talking while he enjoys the modest luncheon his mother has set out. He nods every so often, makes noises of approval or indifference in between bites of fresh bread with cheese or jam.

Elise, Eloise, and Eliana have never met a conversation they didn’t like, so Chapeau is glad to listen to them prattle on about some new man they fancy or arguing over each other until their mother has to lighten the mood. He is a good listener, always has been. How many times did he let Lumiére vent his frustrations? Entirely too many, but he was more than happy to do it, for Lumiére has always been a dear friend.

Further back still, when he first arrived at the castle as a young man, when _le prince’_ s darling mother was still on this earth… It was _him_ she sought out. He was there in her most dire moments, offering a kerchief and a calm shoulder to catch her tears. And it was _Madame_ who kept him in the household after Chapeau made the mistake of putting himself in between her and her husband’s rage. Chapeau still remembers the man’s fists splitting open his lip, bruising his eye, his cheek. He remembers the anger that tumbled forth across his own tongue; foolish words spoken by an impulsive young man. But he does not regret that moment of bravery for _Madame_ , whom he loved. Not a single second of it.

But he did find it harder to speak, after that.

And though his sisters appear to pay no mind that he doesn’t offer any words back, Chapeau thinks they’re all just content to be in each other’s company. That seems to be enough, for now.

 ***

It’s late afternoon when Chapeau leaves his family with a promise to return. The bustling pace in the village square seems to have slowed some, though people have settled into clusters around the stone fountain or outside the shops. The sky is beginning to look like an oil painting, with softened clouds and the sunlight turning amber, rippling across the water. Chapeau breathes in deep. He can still smell the flowers, though the florist is across the square; he wonders if the scent is clinging to his jacket. The sunlight feels good on his skin. A warm breeze grazes his cheek as he decides upon the perfect spot—the stone steps in front of a building, a few feet from the tavern.

He lowers to one knee to unlock his violin case. The emptied case is left open in front of his feet, instrument and bow in hand. Chapeau lets the music out into the air, gently, quietly at first, until the saccharine notes grow and blossom. He doesn’t know what exactly it is that he’s playing, but he lets the music do whatever it pleases, making sense of the words that don’t come easily from his own tongue.

Heads turn to find the music, others make their way across the square to stand closer. In another life, Chapeau would watch them—as a boy he’d pick up his violin and observe the tide of the village from afar with his keen, observant eyes—but now he’s lost to the music entirely. _Oui_ , he had played while merely a piece of household furniture, but nothing feels quite the same as this. _Human again._

Chapeau is only half aware of the coins that drop into his opened violin case. He doesn’t look up until he hears a familiar voice call his name.

“Monsieur Chapeau,” the voice says, all warmth and mischief, “if I do say so myself, it is an absolute _pleasure_ to hear your violin again.”

Chapeau cuts the music off and stares at LeFou, blinking slowly. LeFou has a hand settled against his chest, a little dramatic, but well-meaning, the look in his eyes far different than when…oh, _mon dieu_ , last they’d seen each other, Chapeau had nearly beaten him senseless.

As if reading Chapeau’s thoughts, LeFou gives a nervous laugh. “Hey,” he says, like it’s just the two of them in the days of their youth, “no hard feelings about the…y’know…” LeFou turns his hands into fists and assumes a fighter’s stance, mimicking a few punches. Chapeau exhales, bowing his head and offering a hint of a smile.

LeFou scratches at the back of his neck, sheepish. “I probably deserved—”

Chapeau lifts the hand that’s not holding his violin. “It is already in the past, _mon ami_.”

LeFou’s face brightens. “Good to have you back, Emile.”

He drops some coins into Chapeau’s case and is steps away until he pauses, pivoting on a heel. Chapeau can already see the mischief has returned.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asks. “The tavern’s in dire need of some quality entertainment, and I figure, as long as you’re _here_ …we could lend our talents, pick up some extra coin. Like the good old days. I mean…if you _want_ …you don’t have t—”

“ _Oui_ ,” Chapeau answers, wistful. “Like the old days.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this headcanon/theory post on Tumblr: https://batbobsession.tumblr.com/post/160974776926/idk-if-you-noticed-this-but-at-the-finale-chapeau
> 
> After I saw the movie for the third time I ended up appreciating Chapeau's character a lot more, so I had to write something for him since I suddenly had all of these headcanons. Hope you enjoyed reading! Let me know what you think. :)


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